


The moon, this dumb essay, and me

by therosystarling



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Cute, Fluff, M/M, Other, Reddie, implied gay crushes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-21 10:08:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13738599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therosystarling/pseuds/therosystarling
Summary: Richie's essay reveals maybe a little too bit about his thoughts on something. Or at least, what he had thought was something.





	1. Confrontation

**Author's Note:**

> My first attempt at a multi-chapter! I have no idea what I'm doing!  
> Aged up to 17 years old, 11th grade.

Richie really didn't _hate_ English class. It just happened to be the next to last class of the day, and for whatever insane reason, it seemed to last the longest, almost making the actual end of the day feel like an after-school punishment. And especially on a wickedly devilish warm April day like today-it was torture. The sun shone bright and warm through the windows, making him sleepy as the teacher droned on and on about grammar and spell checking and sentence structure for their next essay coming up. The only thing that snapped him out of calling it a day and napping right then and there was the crumple of paper that hit him in the head while Ms. Smith's back was turned.

 

He unfolded it as quietly as he could.

"Quarry before work?"

He glanced in Bill and Ben's direction, their smiling faces waiting for his answer. It really was a nice day to take the first dip of the year. He nodded and grinned at them.

"Something to share with the class, Mr. Tozier?" Ms. Smith stood staring at him, arms folded across her chest slightly.

Richie balled up the paper again. "Of course not, ma'am. Just thinking about that test next Friday. Maybe I'll get rewarded with a kiss for the excellent grade I'll get?" The class snickered.

She smirked. "I believe the term is, 'In your dreams,' Mr. Tozier." The class howled with laughter as Richie held his heart in mock disappointment. He liked Ms. Smith. She seemed to be one of the few teachers that could actually zing him back. "Now, if you don't mind, you might want to actually write down the subject matter I'd like to see for your next essay?"

"You got it, doll." He adjusted his glasses and scribbled down the prompts she wrote on the board into his notebook. As he finished up, the bell finally rang. Freedom. He closed his books and began to gather them up.

"I'll see you all Monday," Ms. Smith chirped happily. "Have a great weekend! Make sure you read! And Richard Tozier, please stay here with me for a minute." The class let out an _ooohhhhh_ as they scrambled out the door, Ben and Bill giving confused looks. Richie shrugged. "I'll see you guys later," he mouthed. He had no idea what she wanted as much as they did. She never had kept him after before. Maybe the 'doll' thing was the line he crossed.

After the kids finally all filed out, Ms. Smith closed and locked the door behind her. She made her way to one of the classroom windows and opened it, and dragged two desks over. She arranged them so they were facing each other. "Come. Sit." As he plopped into one of the desk chairs, she grabbed a large portfolio type bag, a half empty coffee cup, and fished a pack of smokes from her desk drawer. Richie wasn't surprised. Ms. Smith had only been here since January, having replaced Mr. Dunford, who at the young age of what Richie estimated as ninety-fucking-five and a half, had dropped dead after what had been his fourth or fifth hip replacement. Ms. Smith was a young, cute, pretty and cool teacher who could be not only found hanging and smoking with her students in places they probably shouldn't be, but hanging out at concerts and bars and tattoo parlors. And most recently from what he had heard, also the assistant principal's office. He wasn't sure if he really believed that last one-Mr. Anderson was pretty much the visual representation of the word milquetoast. He couldn't imagine anyone who probably ironed everything from to his comb-over to his sneakers as being interesting enough for a woman young enough to be his daughter.

Ms. Smith slid into the seat across from Richie, lighting up a cigarette and placing the coffee cup on her desk for a makeshift ashtray. She let the smoke blow out the open window, and pushed the pack towards Richie as an offering. He shook his head. "So...is something, wrong, Ms. Smith? Or have I charmed you enough for a rendezvous in the classroom today?" She smiled softly at him. "Keep it in your pants, Mr. Tozier. I'm...uh. I'm here to talk to you about the essay you did earlier this week."

Ugh. _That._ Richie had left it until last minute, as always, and drew a complete blank when the prompt was all about Summer. How the hell do you write about Summer when it seemed like it was a lifetime ago? When it was also right around the corner and you could just taste it, but you were stuck inside a stuffy building for hours on end five days a week? "Oh. Yeah, sorry about that. It wasn't my finest work. I can re-do it, if you want. I really want to pass so I can graduate next year." Ms. Smith took another puff of her smoke, and fumbled through her bag. She drew out a paper and handed it to him.

An A-Plus.

"Oh, holy sh-" Richie caught himself. "Uh, cool! Awesome. You thought it was good?"

She nodded. "A little scattered, but yeah. It's good, Mr. Tozier. Really good."

"Sooo...why am I here, then? Am I getting a medal? Because, you know Ms. Smith, I once won a spelling bee and have the biggest medal, if you're into guys wi-"

"Mr. Tozier, who is this essay about?"

Richie frowned. "It's about Summer. Like you asked."

"Mhm. Yes, there are definitely things about the season in there. But there's also a few mentions of a boy in there. Who is it?" She tapped the ash off her cigarette into her coffee cup before taking another drag. "They sound.....familiar."

"No one," he answered, confused. "I don't...I mean...I don't even remember much of what I wrote, Ms. Smith. I wrote it the night before. It's probably just myself I was thinking about."

"You own a 'salmon colored polo' shirt? No offense, but I've never seen a plain colored shirt on you in the 11 weeks I've been here, kid."

"Wha-I-I own plain colored shirts! I just...wear them during the Summer."

"Mmmhmm," she grinned, "I'm sure. Do you also really enjoy, and I quote, 'spaghetti in the sunshine?'"

Richie eyed her. "Maybe I do. Can't a guy eat what he wants?" 

"Tell me," she continued, "do you wear this shirt and...eat this dish with a pair of-" she glanced at his essay quickly, skimming the page. "...pair of eyes so brown it makes you excited for Autumn when the leaves fall, so you can soak in the bare trees? But with freckles like a galaxy, that only blossom in the sun, that Summer calls you to stay?"

Richie rolled his eyes. "Uh, hello? My eyes are brown, and my freckles are everywhere. And in case you haven't noticed, I'm cute as hell."

Another drag. "So they're cute," she mused.

Richie grumbled, stuffing the essay in his backpack. "What are you getting at, exactly? If you're mocking my essay, then why did you give me a good grade? Not really fair to screw me around like this, Ms. S-"

"Mr. Tozier, it's okay. I'm here to tell you-I'm available whenever you want to talk about...feelings."

"What feelings? About what?"

"Look, I think we both know who you're talking about in your essay. I have every eleventh grader for eight classes a day. It's pretty hard not to notice the kid in fourth period who wears a pinkish polo shirt about seven times a month. Also I'm not blind, kid. I watch the hallways. Your, uh, 'pasta dished' friend seems to be the one who enjoys that particular shade." She took one last puff before letting the cigarette sizzle out in the cup. 

It suddenly hit Richie what she had been getting at. "You think I wrote about Eds." He wasn't even sure if he had spoke above a whisper.

"Did you not? Maybe I misread, Mr. Tozier. It's just...I mean... I'm from New York City, and it's a whole different world out there than here. It isn't hard to pick up that maybe you might be..."

"Don't," he hissed, cutting her off. He felt tears brimming in his eyes. 

Ms. Smith sighed, taking his hands. "I'm sorry, Mr.-Richie. Can I call you that?" He didn't move, sniffling. "I didn't mean to make you upset. I want to give you my number is all, okay? I ran a club in college for youth-Gay, Bi, Lesbian-any kid who felt left out and weird. But they're not." She scratched her name and number on a post-it and handed it to him. "If I'm wrong, I'm wrong. I'm sorry if I am. But...if I'm not, and you just want to talk to a person who you can trust, call me. This town is pretty...small. So is it's mind. I can promise you, mine isn't."

Richie wiped the tears that had formed away, and shoved the post-it in his pocket. "Thanks," he murmured. He stood up, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. He glanced down at the pack of smokes and grabbed a couple out of it, earning a nod of approval from Ms. Smith. "Maybe this weekend. Just to...talk," he said. 

She smiled. "I'd like that, Mr. Tozier. I'll be home Sunday evening by four. You can call anytime after that. Doesn't matter if it's one in the morning." 

He bit his lip, clutching the cigarettes in his hand. Right now, he really didn't feel like following through on calling Ms. Smith. 

Right now, he was on the quest to find Bev.


	2. Contemplation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (yes, the cliche 'home alone for the week' excuse is here.)

Richie passed through the hallways, completely ignoring his locker. If there was something he needed in there, he'd deal with it Monday. Most of his shit was in the book bag on his back, anyway. He found Bev at her spot, rummaging through the contents of her disaster of a space. Richie thought he was bad, until he peeked inside her locker one day. His looked like a Five-Star Hotel compared to Bev's, and Richie had physically thrown out maggots from his one time last year from a long forgotten sandwich.

He marched up to her, her not looking at him. "Do you really want to go to last period, Marsh?" His voice was still quiet, a little hoarse. Bev smiled at his question. "You know how I hate last per-"she had turned to look directly at him, and got a look at his red-rimmed eyes swimming behind his glasses. "Jesus, are you okay?" She looked around her and waited for more students to pass by before continuing. "Have you been crying?" He sighed. "Bev, do you want to ditch or not? I can go by myself. It's just...it'd be really nice right now to have someone to smoke with."

Bev grabbed her backpack without hesitation and slammed her locker shut. "I'm game. Let's go. We going to the q-"

"Not the quarry" Richie interrupted. "Somewhere else. Just you and me."

Bev bit her lip in concern at his face and smoothed a hand over his cheek. "Clearing in Elm Woods?" Richie nodded. "After you," he told her. They darted out the double doors just a few feet away. If anyone had seen them leave, no one had really seemed to care. 

Elm woods was really nothing more than a small patch of trees hunters had used for years, but never came to anymore since the deer moved on to bigger places probably a decade ago. It was less than two blocks from the school, at the end of Elm Street (obviously), and in the middle of it all, there was a large barren spot that the hunters had cleaned out probably fifty years ago to set up campfires and hang their catch from the trees. These days, it was the second best hidden drinking-and-smoking spot for any teenager in Derry. Richie and Bev slowly tromped through the small path until the clearing emerged, surrounding them. He took a cigarette from his palm, genuinely surprised he hadn't crushed them into pulp, and fumbled in the smaller pocket on his bag for a lighter. Bev held one out after a couple minutes of no luck.

"Thanks," he mumbled, lighting up. Richie didn't smoke often-usually only when the Losers came here to drink. Which wasn't that often, either. _"The bitter-sweetness of being a Loser,"_ he once toasted to the group, _"is when we get a hold of cheap, strong alcohol, and yet... no one still wants to hang out with you. More for us. To us."_

Today, he felt like he could go through a carton of the damn things. A couple glasses of nice whiskey.

A hole to crawl into after what had happened back at school.

He plopped his bag on the ground, sitting and leaning up against it like a pillow, taking deep inhales of smoke. Bev set up similar digs next to him, waiting for him to start talking. He was unfashionably quiet. She finally spoke up. 

"Everything alright?" It was ridiculously obvious it wasn't, but she wanted him to tell her at his own pace.

Richie ran his hand through the mop of hair on his head. "I had to stay and talk to Ms. Smith."

"You in trouble?"

"She gave me her number."

Bev wrinkled her nose. _"...ew."_

"Not in _that_ way, Bev. It's for when I want to...talk to her about my feelings."

"You have feelings?" Bev smirked at him.

He grumbled. "I've been crying since I left her room, so how's that for feelings?"

"Shit. Sorry, Rich." She placed a hand on his shoulder. "What kind of feelings, exactly? About...her?"

_If only it were that easy. Most guys are crazy about her._ He paused and took a drag. "No. Not her." He sat up away from his bag, and opened it, producing his essay. "Do me a favor. Read this. Tell me what you think."

Bev gingerly took it, glancing it over quickly. "Holy shit! You got an A-Plus?"

"I said the same thing."

"Summer? Damn, you're lucky. My class had food. It got pretty ridiculous trying to think of ways you like green beans." She began to read the page, humming here and there, smiling at parts. She looked at him, grinning. "This is cute, Rich. No wonder you got an A-Plus."

Richie let out a shaky breath. "What did you think of when you read it?"

"...Summer?"

"See, that's what _I_ thought. It's about fucking Summer! But now, apparently I'm gay."

"...I think I missed something here. You're what, now?"

Richie groaned, pointing at the essay in her hand. "Ms. Smith read this thing, and now she thinks I'm gay. Do you think that? That I'm gay?"

Bev sat quietly, taking a final inhale before crushing her cigarette out. Richie could see she was mulling over something.

"Hey. Drama Club President. At least goddamn _try_ to act shocked at this development, would ya?"

"W-w-welllll..." she made a face that told him that she wasn't really shocked at all. Richie threw his cigarette on the dirt, smacking it out with a nearby rock. "Bev. Just out with it."

"You're...something. I don't know, Rich. I've definitely thought about it. A lot of us have."

His eyes narrowed. That hole he imagined digging would have to be scooped out with a damn excavator, because he was going to drag everyone in with him. "Who. Is. _'US.'"_

"Don't get mad."

"I'm not mad."

"You're mad."

"I'm. Not. Mad." He hissed a breath out, sternly waiting for an answer. "Who. Is. Us?"

_"allofus,"_ Bev mumbled quickly.

"Excuse me?"

"We all do, okay? We all have thought about that....maybe. Maybe! You're...into guys."

"Oh, Jesus," he wailed into his hands. 'All of you? Seriously? And no one even asked if I actually am?"

"Okay. Well. I will. Are you?" Her question was so light and simple, like she asked him to pass her a napkin.

Richie felt himself redden a bit. It was something that yes, had crossed his mind, hundreds of times since he learned what that even meant, but it wasn't something he really had put thought into. "I-I-I-"

Bev sat closer expectantly. Richie felt his mouth growing drier by the second. "I-I-I-Goddamn Bev, I don't know, okay? I don't fucking know!"

"Maybe you like both," she offered. "It's alright if you don't know. I mean, we all have-"

"Bev, as hot as this sounds, now's not the time to talk about your girl on girl fantasies."

She rolled her eyes. "Look, you have tomorrow and Sunday off, right? And you have the house to yourself for the week, right? The good ol' 'Bahamas Cruise' your parents take every year?" Richie _ughed_ at the sentence, but nodded. They loved that cruise, but the appeal of a giant rocking shuffleboard game was lost on him. "So," she continued, "start a list. Boys and Girls. Write down pros and cons of dating each. Like-I don't know. What's the cons of holding hands? The pros of kissing someone?"

"Hey," Richie shot back. "I've kissed someone, thank you very much."

"Ahh, yes. Sarah Pullman. If I remember, the day after that happened, 'disaster' was spray panted **alllll** over all the stop signs in the neighborhood. And it sure as hell wasn't yo-"

"A bad kiss with a girl doesn't make me gay! Shit!" Richie snatched the essay from Bev's hands to shove back into his bag.

"No, but it does tell me you need practice."

"You offering, Ms. Marsh? It's not very romantic here, but I can make it work." 

Bev smacked him with her bag, toppling Richie from his sitting position to his side. "Maybe the real answer is you're just a damn pig, you know that?"

A smile finally formed on Richie's face. "Can't deny that." He sat back up, brushing his shirt off. "You know the worst part of this? Ms. Smith thinks I wrote about Eddie."

"....you didn't? I kind of assumed it was, after I got to that spaghetti part."

"Okay, not cool. _Second_ time I've heard deep thoughts about fucking spaghetti today." He checked his watch. "Fuck. School let out ten minutes ago. We better go gather our chariots, m'lady." He stood, helping Bev up with him.

"So it's _not_ about Eddie?"

"We have to get back."

"So, it _is_ about Eddie."

"They tow cars from the school lot now, Bev."

"Holy shit. It _is_ about him."

"I'm going to leave you here."

"Oh, Eddie! _Smooch smooch smooch_! Wear that salmon color I adore!"

"I fucking hate you, Bev."

"So why are you blushing like crazy?"

"Bev, I swear to _God."_

The talk was like that the whole walk back to the school. Bev cackled at the conversation. Richie wished for an alien invasion to fling him into the sun.


	3. Conniption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> slloooowwwwwww burrrrnnnnnn....

The school parking lot was nearly empty by the time they got back, with only a few of the teachers vehicles left. Bev gave a quick kiss on Richie's cheek, bidding him good bye, and with a wink, some 'good luck.' He grinned and tipped an imaginary hat to her, then dug his keys from his pocket and cracked open his door. Flopping his bag on the passenger seat, he opened the small pocket on it again to retrieve the second cigarette-still in good shape, and this time, popped his glove compartment for a lighter. Three awaited him. 

He gave Bev a nod as she pulled out of the lot, and promptly rolled down his window to light up. The small gathering of teachers making their way out the doors didn't seem to notice, or if they did, they didn't care. He buckled up, revved his engine, and drove out, not touching the radio for once. Too much noise for today.

There was no real side streets of Derry-Derry was pretty small and a lot of people would probably consider the town itself a side street, but he took a couple roads that could get him home that the rest of the Losers' Club wouldn't think to go down to find him, if they were even looking for him. He was sure the majority of them just figured he had ditched, but also pretty sure Eddie had assumed he was struck by Norovirus and was now on a journey to buy every bottle of Lysol in a ten mile radius to disinfect him. He wanted to lay low for a bit, get home and maybe nap before his shift at the Aladdin tonight. The cigarette in his hand was quickly burning out. He sighed and took a final puff before tossing it out. It tasted awful, anyway.

It wasn't long before his empty driveway loomed into view. He threw the car on park, and pulled the key out with a huff. His whole face hurt. His eyes were dry and red, his clothes were dirty from sitting in the dirt, and he was pretty sure he had gotten a twig caught in his hair. He had to laugh. The teachers that caught a glimpse of him and Bev leaving had probably thought they had been doing their own little anatomy class in the woods. 

Well. _One_ teacher didn't think that.

He grabbed his bag and grumbled his way out the car, slamming it probably a little too hard as he walked up his steps. Unlocking the door, he practically kicked his shoes off before he was fully even inside his house. Frowning and moody, he made the trek to his room. He just wanted this day to be over and done with. Maybe work on that thing Bev suggested. Maybe not. Maybe see if could catch Ms. Smith at home befo-

"Holy fuck, Rich. About time you got home."

Richie yelped at a volume that he assumed made every dog in the neighborhood whine. Eddie sat criss-cross in Richie's bed, a notebook in his hand and another one open spread across his lap. Any other time, he would of throttled Eddie for scaring the shit out of him. Today, his heart felt like three hummingbirds having a knife fight and just didn't have the energy or the words for it. After English, he felt like Eddie knew what conversation had taken place. Which couldn't be right. 

... _Right?_

"What the shit? How did you get here? How did you get _in_ here?"

"Bill dropped me off. And I used your spare key."

"How the fuck do you know where my spare key is?

Edde rolled his eyes. "Because you have a fake rock, which is the only rock in your garden. Not hard to figure out where you guys keep it."

"Well, good detective work, Nancy Drew. Don't you have an old clock with some goddamn secret to solve now?" He threw his bag to the floor and sat at the end of the bed to remove his socks. _Play it cool, Rich. Don't act weird. Act like you always do. Like a Trashmouth._

"What's your deal? I came here to copy down the notes you missed, and I don't even get a thank you?"

"What notes?"

"Science Lab? We have that test on Tuesday?"

**Shit.** Richie had completely forgot. "Fuck. I blanked on Lab today. Thanks, spaghetti." **Shit.** _Again._ He really did seem to use that word a lot, didn't he?

Eddie wrinkled his nose at him, and leaned a bit closer. "You...smell." He took an exaggerated sniff. "Ugh. You seriously ditched to smoke? Those things will kill you, you know."

Richie grinned as he pulled off his palm tree covered button-down. "Ever hear of 'Live Fast, Die Young, Leave a Beautiful Corpse?'" He tossed the shirt with his socks into his hamper.

Eddie blinked for a minute. "But what if you're killed in a high speed accident? _Nobody_ looks good after one of those. My mom has this book full of surgical photos, right? And the accidents page is always just so gros-"

"Eds, holy shit. Joke. Over your head." Eddie still looked at him with a concerned face. "You know I don't smoke much, anyway." Still that sad stare. Eddie reminded him of one of those Precious Moments dolls with those big brown eyes. "Jesus," he muttered. "I'll try and quit entirely, okay?"

"Good," Ed chirped happily, turning back to the notebook on his lap. "So, I wrote down the same notes I took for your copy, but I'm adding some things I noticed you're slacking on. And also, I'm mapping out the highlights of what we need to really focus on in red ink for Tuesday..."

Damn. Eddie was really all doing that? For him?

"..and here, where we're going to have to slice into the sheep br-are you listening?"

Richie snapped to. "Yes. Got it. Sheep bra."

"..Brain. Sheep _brain._ We're dissecting a sheep brain for the test, and have to identify the parts. Remember?"

"Oh. Gross. Yeah, sorry. My mind's somewhere else today."

Eddie flicked him on the arm with his thumb and middle finger. "Well, get it where it needs to be by Tuesday. Okay, asshole?"

Richie smirked. He had to admit Eddie's frustration was pretty cute. "No problem, dickhead."

"And take a shower! You smell like the 'bingo ward' at my grandma's nursing home."

"Eh. I think I'll do what I can in the sink. Need to grab something to eat before my shift. You want anything?" Richie stood, walking to the closet and grabbing his work 'uniform'-tan pants and a blue polo shirt, with The Aladdin's concession stand Logo on the breast.

"In _your_ fridge? No thank you."

"Let me make it up to you for doing my notes."

"By poisoning me?"

"Fine. Just think about it while I clean up."

Richie grabbed his uniform and padded out his room to the bathroom just a few feet down the hall. He ran the sink warm, adding some crappy cheap hand soap, and gripped the sink as it filled . Fuck. Why did Eddie have to be here today? Of all days? He peeled off the undershirt he had been wearing and tossed it to the floor, and grabbed the towel off the rack and fished around under the sink for a washcloth. Cranking the knob off, he softly splashed his face with the bubbly water before dunking the washcloth to clean his armpits. He began to wash his hair the best he could-he was grateful the bathroom had a generous sized sink, but it hadn't been large enough since he was eight to fit his entire head in there to wash his hair like he used to do sometimes. He sectioned it out as best he could, washing bits here and there, and pulled the plug to let the sink drain. He ran clear water to do a rinse, then twisted his hair up in a towel to keep it out of his face while he brushed his teeth. He was about four seconds in on scrubbing a molar when he heard Eddie's voice.

"Hey, Rich?"

"Mhm?" It was the best he could let out.

"You got an A-Plus on your English essay?"

_ohshitohshitohshitohshit. Danger, Will Robinson,_ **DANGER!**

He spit the toothpaste out as fast as he could and half-jogged into the room. "What the fuck? Why are you in my bag?"

"Jesus, cool it, Tozier. I was putting the notes in here for you. What's the problem? If you have weed or a PlayBoy in here, I'm not gonna take it." Eddie's eyes wandered over the title. "Summer, huh? Nice. My class period got 'Love.' Kind of a weird one." He gave Richie a look-over and laughed. "Nice towel, Rich. You should keep it on while selling popcorn tonight. You'll make double." He slid the essay back into Richie's bag without any further comment.

Richie, who was pretty sure he had died twice over and his soul was just waiting for an angel to appear and give the old 'Exit, Stage Left' spiel, just stared at him. He waited for the inevitable yelling and screaming, or stomping out the door, or something. It never came. Eddie must not have read it.

"Your mom likes making it double," he finally mumbled back, stepping back to the bathroom. Eddie followed him on his heels, watching Richie pick up his toothbrush and finish brushing his teeth.

"Hey, so I thought of a way to make it up to me."

"Mmmf?"

"Come to my house tomorrow for lunch."

Richie's eyebrows raised. He spit in the sink-properly, this time-and gave his mouth a quick rinse. "How is me coming to _your_ house to eat your food making it up to _you?"_

"Because,"Eddie beamed, "You're going to help me with my math."

Richie groaned. "Oh, come on, Eds. Math on a Saturday? I don't even want to look at the science notes until Sunday night!" Eddie gave a glare. "Uh. But I will absolutely look at them all weekend. That's what I meant to add."

"Anyway," Eddie continued, "I need some help. You're terrific with division and fractions. Granted, it's a mystery on _how_ , but you are. And I'm not. Please? It'll just be you and me." He batted his eyelashes playfully.

"Okay, fucking fine! Yes, I'll come over. Stop being so damn cut-uh, clingy. Stop being so clingy."

Eddie's grin returned. "Great! I get home at noon from my quick shift at Everbeen's." Everbeen's was a new-ish grocery store that Eddie had began working at as a stock boy since the summer before. "I'll make sure we have actual, edible food. I'll make extra for you to bring home. I'll even lend you a bottle of Pine-Sol. So you're not, you know. Living and eating in your own filth."

"Screw you, Sp-Eddie. Whatever. My food is perfectly fine, and I will have you know, I just vacuumed last week. So suck it." 

"Yeah, looks like a paradise in here," Eddie mused sarcastically, picking up two candy wrappers and a half empty can of Coke from the corner of Richie's bathroom sink. "When does Robin Leach stop in to give the world a glimpse of Casa de Tozier?"

"Shove it. You need a ride home, or what?" A part of Richie hoped Eddie would say yes.

"In _your_ car? Where you've been _smoking?_ You want my lungs to shrivel up and die? Secondhand smoking is the-"

"Okay already, shit! Sorry for being fucking polite."

"I can walk, thank you. It's only five minutes. Enjoy whatever garbage you scrounge up for a snack." Eddie adjusted his back pack a bit higher. "And I'll throw these-" he waggled the wrappers and Coke can in front of Richie's face-"away for you. You're welcome. Again." With that, Eddie made his way out of Richie's house, stopping in the kitchen to throw the trash in his hand away. Rich could hear the front door click open. "See you tomorrow!," he yelled. The door softy creaked to a close.

Richie undid the towel around his hair and buried his face in it. 

_"Fuck,"_ he whispered into the fabric, muffled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I'll have you know I looked to see what stores were popular in Maine before deciding to make one up, but there is a very real Tozier's Pharmacy in Maine.)


	4. Commentary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Hey! I'm so awful with commenting back, but thank you so much to those who like and comment. I do appreciate all the feedback! This story should be wrapping up very soon. Sorry this chapter is longer than the others!)

Richie's car sat on the side of Cow Tip Road that was about a mile east of The Aladdin. It wasn't really called that, but it was nothing but a stretch of old farms on an even older dirt road, and had been for so long, even Richie's grandparents had forgotten the real name-the sign lost and never replaced for decades now. He had left his house less than an hour after Eddie had, and grabbed a bag of chips and bought a notepad along with him. He decided to do some thinking, alone. His house smelled too much like Eddie-a mix of Woolite and somehow, vanilla. He had no idea what Eds wore that made him smell like freshly baked Christmas cookies, but he wasn't having it today. Now that he was in the car, deep in farm country, he regretted the decision. Cookies were preferable to barns. Hell. Anything was. 

He drummed his fingers nervously on the steering wheel, delaying the inevitable. He was going to make that list-hence the notepad-but he had no idea where to start. He grabbed the bag off chips and tore into them, crunching and thinking. Thinking and crunching. That essay. He was almost caught red-handed by the boy he wrote that essay about, and now here he was, trying to write down the things about what could be so bad if he was with that boy he wrote about. 

Damn. Why the fuck had he turned that in? Richie knew he was a lot of things-loud, annoying, clingy, a mood killer-but he sure as hell never thought himself stupid, but, _Jesus._ By far, handing that thing was the stupidest thing he had done. He honestly, truly, hadn't been thinking about Eddie when he wrote it. He had been bullshitting his way through it late at night, thinking of things that came to mind about Summer. Warmth and Sunshine. Swimming and Ice cream. And **poof**! Like a Genie, Eddie was all in there too, with his freckles and laughs, his enormous bottle of sunscreen, his ridiculous flip flops he got one year that matched his tiny shorts-red and rainbows-his howls of laughter running through the sprinkler on Richie's lawn, the nights around town when he and Richie would walk by themselves for hours when Sonia had finally zonked out for the night, and they just talked about nothing and anything, and whatever was in between. Richie had to face it, no matter what the subject had been, Eddie would have been in it. Spring, Fall, Winter. Stars, planets, the moon.

The Moon. Shit. That was the next subject for next week's essay. Maybe Richie could write about how he'd like to be an astronaut and have NASA launch him there to live. Start a colony with himself and a couple of nice ferns. Be the first Pteridologist in space. He loved learning that word the other week. It sounded horribly dirty when it was literally just someone staring at some fucking plants for a living. Now it sounded like a dream.

"Okay, no more," he yelled at himself out loud, He put down the chips and grabbed the notepad, fishing a pen from the glove box. "I'm writing. Happy, brain?" He huffed, tapping the pen to the notepad. Girls. He'd start with girls. He began scribbling things down that would be cool with girls. Movies. Hand-holding. Kissing. Hugging. Laughing at jokes together. Hanging out together. Walks in parks and swimming sessions at the quarry. He stopped to think a bit, and a wicked grin spread across his face. He jotted down a few X-Rated things and snickered loudly to himself about it. He _had_ to hang this up in Bev's locker. She wanted a list, after all. And it wasn't like he _didn't_ want those things.

He flipped the page to a fresh one, and swallowed hard. Now, on to...well. Boys. But he wasn't fooling himself anymore, this wasn't boys in general, this was Eddie. What would be good with Eddie? What would be bad? His pen seemed to move faster than his brain, and after a couple minutes, he stopped and realized what he wrote was basically the same as the girls' list.

Even some of the X-Rated stuff. 

He wasn't really surprised his mind went there, but he was surprised how easy it was to have written down. 

 

Kissing. Hugging. Holding Hands. Hickeys. Cuddling. Heavy Petting. Getting a blowj-

He slammed the notepad down, cheeks blushing furiously. _Holllyyyy shit, Tozier. There's a new thought, huh?_ It's not like he hadn't talked about Ed's dick before, but-he was joking then. Yeah? Yeah.

"Shit. Nope. I want to fuck him, too." He felt like the statement echoed through the car. He slammed his hand into the horn, half yelling, half almost...excited? That his brain had finally clicked in the missing piece of him. _Good job! We figured out we like dick! Our certificate should be in the mail by Monday!_ Richie stopped and flopped his head against the steering wheel. He half expected a cow to knock on his window and tell him to get off their lawn after that outburst. 

Well. Guess that settles that. He would be perfectly fine with a girl, and perfectly fine with Eddie Kaspbrak. Of course, there were still two cons in his mind. The one con for both sides was, of course, rejection. Rejection, Richie could handle. He'd been through it before. But the con for Eddie was a lot more severe. If he likes Eddie....and Eddie liked him too, then... the town. What it could do. Ms. Smith hadn't been lying about small minds here. It was a tiny place with a lot of talk. Anyone dating someone made the gossip rounds pretty quick, and he could only imagine the gasping that would ensue if the church ladies from First Street Baptist saw him with his tongue down another man's throat. He was suddenly reminded of when he was only six years old, and a new hairdresser came to town. The women all loved him, including his own mom-and within a few months, he left with a smashed up business, two black eyes, and a few cracked ribs. He had heard adults around town murmuring about 'coming to the wrong bar' along with a few distasteful words spat out that all started with F that he didn't really understand. At the time, he pictured this man was actually some rogue villain who had tried to start a fight in a bar and lost, and they were just defending the town. It wasn't until he was fourteen and going through old news stories in the library for a project when he stumbled upon the arrests made that night that the man was beaten up for simply being gay at the Old Derry Bar with a bunch of angry and drunk redneck assholes. Everyone arrested ended up paying a shitty twenty dollar fine with one lousy night in the drunk tank, while that man left with a business behind him ruined, and beaten to shit to boot. Richie shivered. He wasn't afraid to fight, but he suddenly didn't feel safe here anymore. Not that he really _ever_ did in Derry, obviously, but the thought of someone happily kicking the fuck out of his ribs just because he liked a boy and then cheerfully handing over a twenty to a cop to make up for it made him feel sick.

Richie sighed and peered at his watch. He had been here for too long. He started the car up and headed to work, wondering if there was any easy way to track someone down.

 

"Did God lose a bet to Satan? What am I seeing? Trashmouth walking in ten minutes early?" Stan was behind the concession stand, watching Richie walk in. "This does not mean you're ditching us before closing, by the way." Stan motioned to Ben and Bill with the hot dog tongs in his hands, "So don't even think about it."

Richie gave a small smile and a wave. "Stan the Man, I wouldn't dream of it. How could you think I would leave my cutie-patootie-Jewbooty?" He hopped on the counter and slid across it to the other side, giving a smooch to Stan's cheek. 

Stan rubbed his cheek dry with his free hand, focusing on the hot dogs. " _Jewbooty?_ Really? Losing your touch, Rich."

"Gimme a minute Stan, my touch will be golden in no time. I'll show you in the back room, if you really want to feel."

"Beep-beep, Richie," Ben groaned. "We're at work. Watch it."

Bill shot him a dark look. "Yeah, R-Rich. I d-d-don't feel like c-cleaning the b-b-athrooms all n-n-n-night again bec-cause of last t-t-ime."

"Oh, come on. Man, that old bat who threatened us because we couldn't make a milk-free milkshake was just asking to be called a fucking cun-"

"Richie! Beep-beep-beep to the beep squared!" Stan was flipping the hot dogs nervously now, nodding towards the manager's office door. He dropped his voice low. "He's not in a good mood tonight, Rich. Cool it, okay?"

"Aye Aye, Cap'n Stanlin." Rich made a zipper motion across his lips.

"Great," Ben retorted. "That should last all of a minute."

Rich held his hands up in mock defense and made his way to the punch cards. There was no real 'punch in system,' but a simple requirement you wrote your name, what time you came, and then when you left. Simple. He was scrawling everything down when Mike made his way up to the counter.

"M-mike," Bill grinned, "What b-b-rings you here t-t-tonight?"

Richie slipped his card in the pile of others. "Hot date, hot lips? Or you looking for me to come sit with you in the back of the theater?"

"Unbelievable, "Ben muttered. "I don't even think that was twenty seconds."

Mike chuckled. "Actually, I _am_ here with a date." He motioned to an elderly woman smartly dressed a few feet behind him. "My grandmother and I are having a movie night tonight."

Richie looked the woman over and raised an eyebrow. "Yowza, yowza, YOWza, Mike! Grandmas a fox! Maybe I'll come sit in between you two!"

"F-f-for the love of G-g-g-god...R-Rich, s-s-s-shu-u..."

Mike gently interrupted. "Rich, shut up." He smiled wide at Bill. "We'd like one large popcorn and two large sodas. Cokes, please." He paused for a second. "And do **not** write your phone number on her cup."

"You're no fun. Any of you." Richie and Ben went to work on Mike's order while Stan put hot dogs in the warmer. Bill punched in the total and took Mike's money. "T-that's sweet you're h-h-here with her."

"Making time while we can." Mike shrugged. "She's eighty tomorrow. Can't let it slip. Seize the moment while you can." Richie stared at Mike as he slid his order to him. "Advice for everybody." Mike winked to the guys and thanked them, walking off with his grandmother to his theater.

 _Shit. Mike always has the answer,_ Richie thought. _Can't let time slip._

Stan jolted him from his thoughts. "Rich! More customers coming. Get with it." 

"Yes, dear," Richie oozed. Stan huffed and handed over the tongs.

Twenty minutes later, the first wave of customers had ordered and left. Ben had took broom duty waiting for the next round of people when he suddenly twirled to face Richie. "Hey, earlier today. Did you get in trouble? You didn't come to the quarry."

"Trashy? In trouble? What a surprise," Stan snickered, wiping the counters down.

"Oh. Uh, no. She just had to go over my last assignment with me, is all. I skipped last period to go home and look it over." Richie hoped they bought it.

"T-the essay? Did you f-f-f-lunk it?" Bill sounded concerned. "I-I- can h-help you if you w-"

"No! I'm good, I didn't fail. I just had to....rearrange it a little bit. It was kind of jumbled. It's okay. Thanks, man." Richie concentrated on cleaning the popcorn machine, hoping they'd drop it. They seemed satisfied with the answer for the time being. He worked along in silence, but what Richie really wanted to do is turn to ask all of them who the hell was the first one who brought up if he might be gay and smack them all with the popcorn scooper. Instead, he found a question uncontrollably tumbling out of his mouth.

"How do I tell someone I like them?"

A collective "What?" rang from the other three.

Richie sighed. "I said, how do I tell someone I like them? And Ben, don't _even_ say a poem."

"Geez," Ben yelped defensively, "I wasn't!" They all looked at him for a second questionably. "...they are nice, though."

"Well, I'll be. Did the Rich's heart grow three sizes today?" Stan threw his arm around Rich with a cheesy grin. "Should we sing that joyful song? Wahoo Doris, blahoo poorface..."

"Those aren't even the right words, Bird-Dick," Richie shot back. "You can either help me or just cram it. This is a serious question."

"...It's not Mike's grandma, is it?" 

"Ben, for Christ-No! It's not Mike's grandma!"

Bill and Stan cracked up until tears were in their eyes. "I-I mean, y-y-you did say she w-was a f-f-fox..."

"I know! It's not her! Can we move on? How do I tell a person I like them?"

"Have you thought about...now stay with me here...telling them?" Stan waved his hands in the air like he had performed a magic trick. "Shocking, I know."

"When's the last time you just 'told' someone you liked them? Wasn't it....it's coming back to me...Jenny! Yes, what happened with Jenny. I'm...pretty sure..." Rich rubbed his temples like he was deep in thought. "...you sputtered something about her shoelaces being...'neato' and fled to Social Studies and never talked to her again? Am I in the ballpark, here?"

Stan frowned. "That was three years ago, and I talked to her this Tuesday."

"Good going, Romeo. Are her shoelaces the 'bee's knees' now?"

"Bite me."

Bill sighed, walking in between them. "O-okay, enough. S-s-Stan is right. Just t-t-ell them. The w-w-w-orst is t-they won't l-l-like you b-back. It s-s-sucks, b-but it's t-t-he best t-t-thing to d-do."

"Oh! You can tell them with a Haiku!" Ben stared off into space, a dreamy look on his face. 

Silence. "...what?" 

"A fucking _what?_ "

"Beep-Beep, Richie," Stan warned. "Boss man."

"No, seriously, what the fff-uhh, frick is a Haiku?"

"G-guys, come on. It's g-g-onna be a rush ag-g-gain s-s-soon."

"Not until Haystack here tells me what the shit a Haiku is. Is it a food?"

"Jesus Christ," Stan threw up his hands in despair. "You're hopeless." He wandered away to start on more hot dogs.

Bill followed him, leaving Ben trying to explain the idea of a Haiku to Richie. 

Bill lowered his voice to a whisper. "S-s-s-Stan, y-you think he's f-f-finally going to t-tell Eds how he f-f-feels?" 

"Hope not. I'll owe the rest of you ten bucks if he actually does. And I want a new pair of binoculars."


	5. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter before the epilogue! Almost there and thanks for reading!

If ten-thirty in the morning was actually early, Richie Tozier would still be a late sleeper. However, the events of yesterday had completely worn him out. He had left at ten the night before, with shouts of, 'just tell them," from Ben, Stan and Bill-him protesting back it was easier said than done, but getting nothing back from them but shrugs and thumbs-up signals. For the third time that day, he had taken old side roads and just drove and thought how the hell to tell him. He had craved a cigarette the whole drive, but remembered his promise to Eddie that he'd try to quit entirely. Any other time he'd have lit up in front of him to spite him and make him mad to see the cute frown lines on his face form, but he suddenly had a pang of guilt if he went against his word. 

_Feelings._ The worst.

He caved when he let himself in to his empty house, rummaging through his sock drawer and fishing out his emergency pack hidden in the back, which were tucked along with his three small bottles of whiskey he had 'permanently borrowed' from some rich kid on the lacrosse team's party he crashed with Ben two months ago. Ben was actually an incredible player, but he never really felt at place or at ease with the team, so he tended to grab one of the Losers for support when they had shindigs. Richie and Bev tended to be the last two picked since booze and smokes mysteriously turned up missing after they left. Oh, well. _Finders Keepers, We're The Losers, creeper!_ Richie had opened his window wide and lit one up, promising himself to scrub his body raw and spray every item of clothing he wore with cologne to try and thwart the smell in the morning before he headed over to Eddie's. He ended up taking two shots of whatever piss-ass brand of liquor he had nabbed to help him sleep. It took three more cigarettes and another few sips of that bitter, hateful shit before he finally got to bed by two in the morning. He still didn't sleep well.

Now as the clock face stared at him, he knew he had to get up and get going, as nervous as he was. He had left the window open all night to try and air out the room, but the temperature had dropped back down to a normal-ish cool April weather, and he yelped a bit as his bare feet hit the freezing hardwood floor. He padded sleepily over to the window and slammed it closed, grabbing a bottle of some off brand Calvin Klein spray shit his Uncle had bought him for Christmas off his dresser, and went to work to make his room the next Macy's perfume department.

 

By noon, Richie had successfully eaten a light breakfast, picked out clean, unwrinkled clothes, showered properly and thoroughly, brushed and gargled his teeth three times, and even gently blew-dry his mass of curls on his head to a soft bounce. He realized he probably smelled like one of the old cheesy men you see in movies at a dance club with all the cologne he had sprayed, but he didn't feel like a lecture from Eddie this afternoon. He would try to quit smoking entirely, but right now, drastic times called for idiot measures. Besides, what was going to happen, anyway? _Hey Eds, sorry I smoked again, but it's a funny story. Can we talk about it with my mouth on your mouth? Oh, this? Me holding your hand and staring at you like a dope? Yeah, well, I was talking to myself the other day, as I do, and was just thinking how much I'm in stupidly in love with you, and maybe we could get married next year after school? And now you're going to have a fucking aneurysm over it. See? Me smoking is nothing!_

He snatched his glasses from his bed and polished them up with his shirt, muttering under his breath. Why did this have to be so hard? If it was a girl, he'd tell a dumb joke and get slapped, and life would go on. But the thought of Eddie flipping out and ending their friendship hurt more than a million slaps ever could. He knew telling him was a huge deal-he was risking everything. Not only a friendship, but revealing his sexuality in a town that wasn't so forgiving. He didn't think Eddie would tell anyone, but the awkwardness that would ensue when they no longer spoke would definitely tip some people off. But he had to say something. The risk was worth it. He hoped.

He let out a long breath and opened up his backpack to grab his math book and notes. His essay sat neatly behind them, staring him in the face. He smoothed a thumb over the edge of it. It was slightly crumpled at the bottom now from him shoving it in rough at the quarry and at school, the left hand upper corner of it neatly folded down a bit in a neat little triangle-

...Wait. 

It wasn't like that before. He never folded the corners of papers, but someone did. 

Someone who had a habit of folding corners down when they were finished reading something.

"Oh, shit." His voice sounded hoarse in the empty room. "Shit. Fuck. **_Shit!_** "

_Eddie_. 

Rich's mind cranked into overdrive, and he suddenly felt woozy like he had been on a roller coaster for a few hours straight. Eddie couldn't have read it. He had only been washing up yesterday for, what? Five minutes? Maybe ten? And there's no _way_ Eddie had finished the notes for him and had time to read this thing in that span. Yeah? Yeah. That seemed right. Maybe it got folded when Bev had it, and he didn't notice. Or maybe the math book pressed against it weird. That had to be it. Had to be. Plus, Eddie hadn't fainted, or yelled, or stormed out with his fake inhaler crammed into his mouth that he still had an attachment to, so everything was fine. 

It had to be fine.

 

Rich tapped his foot nervously at the Kaspbrak porch half an hour later, his hands shaky. _Okay, you're fine. It's fine. We're fine. Just hit the doorbell. Press that little sucker. We can d-_

The door swung open before Richie could even do anything. Eddie stared back at Richie, his own foot tapping, mimicking Richie's. "I thought I heard someone out here. You waiting for a formal invite, or you gonna come in?"

_Patron Saint of Holy Fuck, help me,_ he thought. Eddie had put on that goddamn salmon colored polo. At this point, Richie was sure that God was real, and was also completely messing with him. He had to admit if he were a God, he'd probably spend his day fucking around with people's heads, too.

"Rich?"

"Yeah, coming. Sorry." Richie shuffled his way inside, handing his math books over to Eddie to take. He slid his sweatshirt off and hung it on Eddie's coat rack, following Eddie over to the couch. "Um. That's all I have for math stuff, but if you show me what you're having trouble with, I'll walk you through it."

"That's fine," Eddie answered. He pushed his other school books he had on the table over a bit, and placed Richie's stuff in the middle so they could both look at it. "So, basically, Chapter twenty-eight has been a real pain in my ass this week, so any hints you can give me would be great." He flipped open the math book to point to the section. "It's like Greek. I can't get t-"

"Are you cooking something?"

"...yes. Lunch, remember?"

"You're _cooking_ a lunch? I thought you were just going to slap a sandwich together."

Eddie sighed. "I told you, I was making you lunch, and enough of it so you can take it home. I have a ham and potatoes in the oven, and I'm also making corn. Can we get back to math now?"

"You really didn't have to do all that."

"Less complaining. More helping."

Twenty minutes passed by, Eddie slowly trying out different methods of coming to an answer that Richie was throwing out to him. The sixth idea took hold, and Eddie was soon quickly breezing through the questions in no time. "Damn. I should have you helping with my math more often. You ever think about tutoring?"

Richie grinned. "You couldn't afford me. Now, your mom, though.."

Ed groaned loudly. "Shut the fu- Oh, Shit. I have to check on the food and start the corn. Give me a few minutes. Wait here." Eddie waltzed into the kitchen, leaving Richie alone on the couch. 

He scanned the coffee table, books everywhere. Eddie's stove was out of sight from where he was sitting, but he could hear him humming and talking to himself while he cooked. He starting shaking his leg nervously, wondering when exactly to bring...whatever it was up. _It'll be like ripping off a band-aid. Hey, I like you. No, not like just a friend. Can I have that ham to go? Corn can just go in my pocket, thanks._

His eyes rested on a paper sticking out of a folder. He could see the first line on it read, "Love." He remembered Eds said that what his essay assignment was on. Jesus Christ, was English class going to haunt him this entire weekend? 

He peered up at the kitchen, Eddie still hidden away. Rich scooted closer and decided to sneak a peek.

_"I love my grandparents. They've been married for forty-three years, and they still act like they're on their Honeymoon. They wear matching slippers at night, walk in the park every day no matter the weather, and have always split a chocolate fudge Sundae at their favorite restaurant once a week since they began dating when they were fifteen. I would love a love like that._

_I love the sound of heavy boots walking across a floor. It reminds me of being a little kid and getting excited when my dad came home from work. I began to love the sound of high heels on tile, when the nurse who took care of him in the hospital got a pair, because it meant she was coming to help wipe his forehead and give him his pain medication, and give me brand new crayons to color pictures with. I love nurses. I love my dad. I miss him a lot. I love to wear boots, to remember his sound."_

Richie swallowed hard. He barely remembered Eddie's dad, he had been gone so long now. He looked up again, making sure he hadn't been caught, then gently pulled the essay out a little more from the folder's grasp to continue reading.

_"I love talkative people. I wish I could be talkative. I talk plenty, but don't seem to have the confidence that comes with actual, talkative people. People that don't shut up even when you tell them to. They keep talking and you keep listening no matter if you tell them stop, and you realize they have so much to say, even if it seems it's about nothing. I love people with confidence. I love listening to them talk all day."_

Okay. Interesting. He yanked the essay straight out from the folder.

_"I love loud clothes. My grandmother calls them 'busy,' but I just call them loud. I stick to plain colors, but just once I wish I could be bold and wear a bright patterned shirt without a care. I love the look of them. I love how people look in them. I wish I could stand out like that. I love it."_

**Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.** Richie had to blink a few times. What was all this?

_"I love the smell of cigarette smoke. I say I hate it, and I should, but I actually love it. It smells familiar, like when my uncles used to get together and play cards with my dad. They all smoked. I complain about the smell to smokers to try and purposely get them to blow it towards me for a laugh. I love to pretend I'm mad at them, but I love that smell even more. I actually love to hang by the smoker's pit at school and smell my shirt when I get home. I could never bring myself to smoke one, but I love the smell."_

Was he reading this? 

" _I love stargazing. I love when I'm walking at night in nice weather with someone, when we sneak out of my house when my mom is asleep, and we look up at the stars together, and I stare into the black night thinking about love, and wondering if that person with me is thinking about the same thing. If that someone loves me, too. I love the idea that maybe they might love me. I love daydreaming about love."_

 

Richie sat dumbfounded. There was more, but he couldn't read any longer. His eyes were as wide as saucers, his stomach spinning like a hamster running on a wheel. He clutched the paper as if it would blow away from his grasp, and made his way to the kitchen on unsteady legs. Eddie was still humming along, stirring a pot of corn on the stove. He noticed Richie come in, but didn't turn to look at him. "Give me like, five minutes. Everything is almost ready. Then we can fini-" He had finally looked at Richie and gave him a glance of concern. "You alright? What's wrong?"

 

Richie stumbled closer, wearily holding out Eddie's essay in front of him.

"Oh, my essay? Is somethin-"

Richie dropped it to the counter and placed his hands on Eddie's cheeks. He stared at him with wet eyes, licked his lips, and then... he went for it.

As soon as his lips met Eddie's, he _knew_ he had messed the kiss up. Their lips weren't properly lined up. He was too forceful, too greedy. Too rough against Eddie's soft, plump lips. But he didn't dare let go, not yet. He didn't know what Eddie would do after they parted, and right now, completed borked or not, he wanted to savor this kiss with him, even if it was terrible.

He finally, unhappily broke free of Eddie and slid his hands off of his face. Eddie stared at Richie for a moment, looking him up and down. Shit. He really fucked this over. He read this completely wrong. He-

"So you read my assignment, huh?" Eddie said, turning back to stir the corn as if Richie hadn't came in at all. He swirled the spoon for a little bit, then gave Richie a devilish glance. "Did you find yourself soaked in the bare trees of my eyes?"

"I **knew** it! I fucking _knew _it! You read my essay!"__

__"I admit I may have looked it over."_ _

__"And _you_ knew it was about you!"_ _

__"Uh. Yeah? It really wasn't that vague, Rich."_ _

__"And you're wearing that damn shirt to tease me!"_ _

__"Slow down, there, Tiger. I don't tease until the third date."_ _

__"And your essay! Your essay is about me! Right? It... _is_ about me, isn't it?"_ _

__"Oh, my God. Really? You read all that, and you're still clueless?"_ _

__"And Ms. Smith got into your head after you wrote it!"_ _

__"What? No."_ _

__A look of puzzlement washed over Richie's face. "No?"_ _

__"No. Why? What happened with her?" Eddie clicked the burner off to let the pot cool._ _

__Richie hopped up and sat on the counter next to the stove. "She...gave me her number."_ _

__" _Ohhhh._ Her 'call me' speech. Been there, done that."_ _

__"You have? When?"_ _

__Eddie tapped the spoon on the pot edge in thought. "Like...three days after she got here. Maybe four?"_ _

__"Really? Why did she...how did she..."_ _

__Eddie shrugged. "Dunno. Could be a feeling. Could be because a certain gangly loud guy likes to walk me to English and pinch my face while calling me cute all the way there."_ _

__Richie blushed slightly. "Guilty." He drummed his fingers against the counter edge. "So. Are you...uh. Wow. Shit. Why is this so hard to ask? Are you...you know..."_ _

__"You can say it, Rich. _Gay._ We're in the privacy of my own home. I don't know. I'm honestly not sure what I am." Richie nodded at Eddie in understanding. "I take it you're in the same boat I am."_ _

__"Yeah. This is...this is all pretty new to me."_ _

__"Ms. Smith is really nice, Rich. You should give her a call. I talk to her here and there. She slips me literature and pamphlets sometimes. Did you know there's parades and stuff just about an hour from here?"_ _

__Richie grimaced. "No clowns."_ _

__"Not that kind of parade, Rich. Parades...celebrating." Richie still looked confused. Eddie cleared his throat and went on. "Celebrating...men liking men? Women liking women? Gay pride?"_ _

__"Oh. Gotcha." He looked sheepish. He had no idea about that sort of thing. Derry exactly didn't advertise that._ _

__Eddie turned the oven off and took everything out to cool. "So, um. Would you maybe want to, uh, go to something like that?"_ _

__"With...you?"_ _

__Eddie rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Well, I mean. You don't _have_ to. There's one coming up in like a month, and my mom won't even notice I'm gone since she's too busy these days with her new job and her new boyfriend-"_ _

__"She has a boyfriend? And it's not _me?_ "_ _

__Eddie smacked Richie's knee. "Fuck! Listen, I'm trying to ask you, will you go with me to this thing?"_ _

__Richie beamed. "For a price." He grabbed Eddie, and pulled him between his dangling legs, wrapping his arms around his neck. Eddie gave the faintest grin and stretched up as far as he could. He planted a kiss on Richie, soft and sweet and just right this time. He pulled away and rested his forehead against Richie's chin._ _

__"Rich?"_ _

__"Mhhm?"_ _

__"I don't know what I am. But...I know I want to figure it out with you."_ _

__Richie pulled Eddie tighter. "Sounds good to me, cutie." He rubbed Eddie's back for a few seconds. "Hey, Eds?"_ _

__"Yeah?"_ _

__"Do you call Ms. Smith to talk about my incredible good looks?"_ _

__"...you have got to be fucking kidding me."_ _

__"Do you? I won't judge. I know I'm quite striking. And now you can spill to her how I wooed you with my hot, sweet kisses."_ _

__"Hot? Sarah Pullman was right, that first one was a disaster."_ _

__"Fuck you! Speaking of which, you know my parents are on that cruise until Wednesday..."_ _

__"Beep-beep, asshole," Eddie said, but Richie could tell he was smiling against Richie's neck. "I'm not putting out that quickly."_ _

__"Can we at least put out the plates? I'm hungry as hell."_ _

__"Yeah," Eddie answered, but neither of them moved from their spot._ _

__"We have to move, Eddie."_ _

__"Mm-hmm."_ _

__"We really should."_ _

__"Yep. Sure should."_ _

__"...I won't make a mom joke for five minutes."_ _

__Eddie laughed and pulled away, letting Richie get down from the counter. As they grabbed their dishware, Richie remembered what Bev had told him out in the clearing._ _

__"Hey, Spaghetti. Which one of you thought I liked guys in the first place?"_ _

__"Umm...Stan, I think. Why?"_ _

__Richie leaned over and kissed Eddie's cheek. "I'm sending that man a gift basket."_ _


	6. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (this ended a little more risqué compared to the rest of the chapters, so warnings of implied stuff going to happen in case you're not into that! And thank you to everyone who read and commented and liked, I appreciate it.)

At the end of April, Richie still hated being in English class. The weather was more often rainy than not, but it was finally steadying off into warmer days. In just a couple weeks, when May was into a full sunny swing, he could finally go swimming in the quarry and watch for those certain freckles on a certain someone to poke through. 

Richie had undeniably become a giant, romantic sap. He ended up being the one to call Ms. Smith the day after that math lesion and gush all about how he had finally kissed Eddie, and kissed Eddie some more, and held Eddie tight and squeezed his hand in his, and did he mention he _kissed_ Eddie? Ms. Smith had laughed down the other end of the line, and asked if he would like the literature and pamphlets too. He declined. "I'm crazy in love with the boy," he proudly told her. "We'll look at them together." And Ms. Smith left it at that, and told him to call whenever he wanted. 

She smiled at his essay on the moon he turned in-another A-Plus, but the line he wrote- _George Bailey better watch out, because I already lassoed that baby for you_ -made her smile even wider, and she in fact wrote it at the top of the blackboard. 'Anonymously.' It still was up there today, Richie noticed. It had been nearly three weeks.

"Yoo hoo! Mr. Tozier. You with us today?" Ms. Smith tapped her chalk on the blackboard, waiting for him to snap back to attention.

"Always am, Ms. Smith. And may I say, such a fetching dress you have on today. It's quite becoming on you. Of course, if I were that dress, I'd be com-" The class cut him off with a groan,and threw crumpled up papers at him. Ms. Smith rolled her eyes. "I think that earns you an extra chapter to read tonight, Mr. Tozier."

"Wow, just one? I'm finally wearing you down, doll." He winked and picked up a pen, scribbling the words she had been writing down in his notebook. The bell rang as he finished up, and when he made his way past her desk with his book bag in hand, they gave each other a knowing nod.

 

He strolled down the halls with Bill and Ben on either side of him, going over weekend plans. The Aladdin was closed for the next two weeks due to minor flood damage from all the rain they had gotten the last two days. The three had all thrown out an idea at the same time.

"A-a-arcade?"

"Library?" 

"Eddie's mom?"

Bill and Ben glared. 

"What? You asked for fun things to do!"

"Incredible," Stan piped up behind them, catching up with the pack. "Your tongue was cleaning Eddie's tonsils yesterday under the stairwell, and yet you still want to pork his mom. You have issues, my friend.'

"Stan my Man, you spying on me? If you want to join in, just ask. Don't be shy." If anyone had heard their conversation, no one seemed to care. Richie and Eddie had tried to be discreet at school, but they both had a feeling everyone down to the entire staff had known for years anyway. "Besides, as much as a delight ol' Sonia is, she did bring him into this world for me. I suppose I owe her like....what do women like? Don't they like it when you lick their pus-"

"Do _**not**_ finish that." The group had reached Eddie's locker and he had let out the warning as a disgusted growl. Richie wrapped an arm around his waist. "Just kidding, Spaghetti." He lowered his mouth to Eddie's ear. "Besides, my mouth is yours and yours only. You point to the spot, and I'll be _allll_ over it." Eddie's face turned a deep shade of crimson. "Cool it," he hissed quietly. "I told you, I'm not ready yet."

"I know, I know," Richie smiled. "I just like to watch you squirm." Ben, Bill and Stan sighed at the conversation. 'We're out of here, lovebirds," Stan muttered. "My ass is heading to the nurse. Hope she has aspirin for the headaches you give me." The group laughed as he walked away. 

"I-I'll call y-you, guys. We'll t-t-think of s-s-omething this w-w-eekend." Bill gave a wave and went his way to class. "Yep, me too. See ya!" Ben made a right down the hall, meeting Bev at the front of the door where their class was. She grinned and gave a wave to Richie and Eddie and ducked into the room with Ben. Mike jogged up, a few steps behind Bev and gave a quick nod to them before disappearing into the class.

"You ready for science?" Richie asked. "I think today we start growing plants, so you'll have about six weeks of allergy meds to t-"

"Let's ditch."

Richie stopped dead in his tracks, pulling Eddie with him. "Let's _what?_ "

Eddie smiled. "Ditch. Plants can wait. Drive me home. Have a smoke."

Richie licked his lips. "It's raining out. I can't roll down the window."

"I don't want you to." Eddie's eyelashes fluttered a bit against his cheeks. 

"God, you're fucking cute," Rich purred out. "But if your mom finds out you skipped, you're screwed."

It was Eddie's turn to put his mouth near Richie's ear. "Maybe I want to be screwed," he softly whispered. 

"Do _not_ even tease me like that," Richie warned.

"I'm not."

"But you just said you weren't-"

"Our friends don't need to know about _**everything**_ in our lives, Rich. Are you taking me home, or not?"

"You're sure? Seriously sure? And you're not fucking with me?"

Eddie stared upward in thought briefly before turning to him. He pulled Richie through the double doors leading to the parking lot. "Well, how about this," he offered, pulling up the hood from his sweatshirt for some protection from the rain. "We go to my house. I'll make hot chocolate, and put on a movie, and we...see what happens from there. And if you behave..." he reached out and smoothed a thumb over Richie's lips. "Just maybe I _will_ be fucking with you." He gave another embarrassed blush, this time from being so bold.

"Holy shit," Richie mumbled. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think we need to stop hanging out so much. I'm rubbing off on you." He leaned down and kissed him deep, cradling Eddie's chin in his hand. "Now, me rubbing one off _on_ you, however..." he whispered into Eddie's mouth hot and heavy.

"Spoiling the mood already, Trashmouth. I'm trying to make this romantic."

"You just begged me to fuck you. Exact words."

"I'm not begging! I was...suggesting."

"Get in the car, Eds. Such a dirty boy. I'm telling your-"

"You are definitely not getting any if you keep bringing up my mom." He opened the door to Richie's car and hopped in, Richie following close behind.

"Rich?"

"Yes, dear?" He lit up a cigarette for Eddie to breathe in.

"...I have no idea how to have sex."

"And you think _I_ do?"

"What if I'm...bad?" Eddie looked genuinely concerned.

Richie started the car. "And what if I am? What if we both are?" He put the car in reverse and backed out of his spot. Eddie twiddled his thumbs nervously. "Look, Eddie. We...take it slow and do whatever feels comfortable, okay? And if we're bad? Practice makes perfect." He pulled out of the parking lot. "Besides, we have every day to try it."

"Every _day?_ You think I'm going to screw you every damn day? You're a pig," he giggled.

Richie gave a light laugh back, remembering the similar line Bev gave him in the clearing. 

"Can't deny that."


End file.
